


Echos

by MinaAndChao



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Character Study, Gen, Mind-fuckery, kind of, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinaAndChao/pseuds/MinaAndChao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry Potter is trapped in his own mind, of course it's up to Severus to save him.  And of course he wouldn't be able to resist taking a look around.  And of course he finds more than he was expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echos

**Author's Note:**

> Written by the Chao part of MinaandChao. I fully admit to this being a tad self-indulgent. No regrets.
> 
> Could be seen as pre-slash if you squint. Also, a couple of lines are from the series by necessity. They are all in italics.

When Severus walked into the Hospital Wing and saw Harry Potter laying in one of the beds, very pale and very still, he assumed the worst. Unfortunately, he was not far off.

“He was discovered.” Dumbledore informed him, voice grave. A gnarled hand was resting on Potter's arm. Under the clean, stiff blanket, the twenty-year-old looked just as small as he had during his school days. “On his way to report, he was attacked. He got away, but once he was on the grounds he collapsed. No attempts to awaken him since have worked.”

Severus' knees suddenly threatened to give out from under him, and only his will kept him from stumbling. Since he'd been outed as a spy, he'd been intrusted with the rest of the prophesy he'd overheard all those years ago. He'd never regretted the knowledge until now.

Once he could trust his voice, he nodded at the unconscious man. “You wish for me to research what spell he was hit with?”

“No, Severus,” Albus replied. “What I ask of you is significantly more complex.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “Harry is competent enough at Occlumency that he can block out Voldemort during the day and while he sleeps.” Severus valiantly resisted making a comment on this. “However, I doubt he is capable under this spell. As long as he remains like this, he is vulnerable.” He paused again, this time to tuck a errant lock behind the (so young looking) man's ear, eyes soft. Severus looked away. “The mission he was on was also of critical importance. He was seeking information on the locket, and I believe he may have found the location. And now...”

After waiting a long moment for Albus to continue, Severus frowned. “What is it that you need of me, exactly?”

Albus sent him a prolonged, sad look. “Someone needs to go into Harry's mind, both to protect him from Voldemort and to extract that knowledge.”

Oh, no. He couldn't expect...

Who was he kidding. Of course he could.

“I don't believe I'm the best candidate for this position.” Severus tried, some part of him hoping that he was misinterpreting Albus' request.

He got a slow head shake in response. “Who else, Severus? The Order needs my constant attention, and who else has your experience and familiarity with Harry's mind? It has to be you.”

There were plenty of arguments Severus wanted to counter that with. That he hated Harry Potter. That the last attempt to work with the man's - then boy's - mind had ended disastrously. But he had done far harder things with less fuss, and so he just inclined his head with a severe frown.

It didn't sound like a hard challenge anyway. Go in, try to poke Potter awake, get the information – theoretically, it was fairly simple.

That should have been his first clue. Nothing was ever simple, for Severus or for Potter.

Aged fingers forced open Potter's eyelids, and Severus focused very hard on not thinking about the color of them as he peered into Potter's unseeing gaze and cast the spell that send him tumbling forward into his mind.

When he landed in what appeared to be Hogwarts' Entrance Hall, Severus knew at once that this wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought.

 _Brilliant_.

~*~

The Hogwarts of Harry Potter's mind was deeply unsettling. After nearly three decades of working and living there, Severus was exceedingly familiar with the place. It wasn't that it was incorrect. There were tiny details that were wrong, admittedly – alcoves in the wrongs spaces or missing, windows that were in the wrong style, stairs that were just a tad too short or long – but for the most part it was surprisingly accurate. Clearly the man's late night wanderings had served this purpose well.

Instead there was just an air of stillness to the halls that Severus had never experienced before, in the school itself or in Potter's mind. In anyone's mind, for that matter. It felt... dead.

Severus was beginning to doubt that Potter could come back from this. In fact, it might be lucky if he whatever information he needed still existed here. If the man was brain dead, would he have a clear mental landscape like this? And just what spell had Potter been hit with, anyway?

For lack of any better destination, Severus made his way towards the Great Hall, opening the huge doors (which were far heavier than they should have been, for some reason), expecting it to be just as dead was the rest of the castle.

Instead, there was a small figure sitting on the old stool they used for Sortings, the Hat itself half covering it's face.

“ _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin._ ” The boy was chanting, and from this angle, Severus could see his hands twisting in the front of those new robes. Even then he'd hated the house. Not that he had much chance in ending up in the House of Snakes-

But clearly the hat disagreed, because the torn brim turned down and it angled itself like it was trying to look at the boy's face. It as assuring the boy that he would be great in his house, if he only chose it.

Behind the boy, two scenes appeared, like they were being projected onto the wall. The first was of Hagrid, gravely informing the boy that every bad wizard had come from Slytherin. Severus rolled his eyes at that. Probably hyperbole to protect the precious Boy Who Lived from the terrifying Death Eater students who lurked in the dungeons.

The second was of Draco Malfoy, in all his bratty eleven-year-old glory. He was bragging to Potter in the middle of a robe shop. Young Potter just smiled and nodded, not letting his own opinion slip and instead letting Draco supply him with information.

That... was interesting.

While he'd been distracted, the hat had finished trying to persuade little Potter, and instead told him, “ _In that case, it had better be GRYFFINDOR_ ” Before it all faded away into an empty room.

Well, at least Severus knew he wasn't brain dead.

...Probably.

~*~

Severus spent a long while simply staring at the place where the memory (he assumed, but it was a pretty damn good bet) of Potter had been, taking in what he had learned. The fact that once upon a time the boy had enough cunning in him to be a Slytherin didn't change how he felt about him – he was still an arrogant little brat who was just like his father (except for those _eyes_ ). But it did change how he went about this ridiculous task. If Potter wasn't just the archetypical Gryffindor, then it was possible that he would be much harder to find in this strange world.

Once he'd collected himself, he spent a while opening doors and peering in. He quickly found that few of the doors matched their real life counterparts – instead they referred to the memory the held. The ground floor seemed to be made up entirely of memories of the boy's first year. Changing matches to needles, learning the Levitating Charm, and then using it on that troll, the list went on. Also interesting was that only certain, key people showed up in each memory. In ones of classes, it might be him and the professor, or in the boy's dorm it was the Weasley boy. Perhaps it was just that his memory lost clarity of who exactly had taken part at these times, and so only bothered to preserve the fundamental players. Or he was loosing his mind, small details first. He rather hoped it was the former.

If Severus perhaps spent an undue amount of time in the boy's memory of the Mirror of Erised, staring over his shoulder at the people, or rather, person, within, then it was no one's business but his own.

He made his way towards the stairs, but on the way noticed a very familiar door. It was the one that lead to his classroom.

A better man might have kept going. Might have made his way up the stairs and let the man keep as many secrets as was possible. Severus had never claimed to be a good man.

He slipped inside to find the memory in progress. A decade younger version of himself was at the front of the classroom, giving his usual first class speech (“ _Brew fame and bottle glory..._ ”). It was somewhat interesting to see him from the perspective of a First Year – he looked taller than he was in reality, and there was a sort of heaviness to his words that the frivolous introductory lecture usually did not get.

After a moment he made his way over to Potter. He remembered he had been writing – at the time, he had assumed the brat had been ignoring him and doodling on a spare bit of parchment. But the ridiculous boy was taking notes on this! Clearly, Severus had not been giving any true information, so why was he bothering?

But young Potter apparently didn't know that, and instead studiously took down nearly every word like it was scripture. Severus hadn't seen (or possibly just didn't remember) his expression at the time, and was surprised to find almost enraptured.

It was utterly alien to think that a young Harry Potter might have been looking forward to Potions class. Until, of course, memory-Severus whirled on him and began drilling him with questions.

A part of him still felt this action had been justified. No doubt the boy had been surrounded by people just waiting to tell him how wonderful he was, and what a boon he was to Wizarding Society as a whole. But, watching that eager expression fall into the hurt, weary one Severus was used to tore at the educator in him. (And maybe he could have stopped at the first question, and not dragged it on, trying to humiliate the boy. But when those green eyes filled with defiance and dislike everything else seemed to go out the window.)

Feeling somewhat disturbed, Severus left before the memory ended.

~*~

As he had expected, the second floor of the castle corresponded with Potter's next year. This time, it wasn't just the rooms that were connected to memories - occasionally, he'd see a pair of students, generally either Second Years or Gryffindors, pass by little Potter in the halls, whispering about ' _The Heir_ ' or ' _Parselmouth_ '. To the boy's credit, he mostly just kept his head down and tried not to let it affect him. But every word made his shoulders twitch and his eyes dart away.

It didn't make any sense, actually. Potter had never been that sensitive, had he? That quick to be hurt by just words? He'd certainly been able to brush off Severus' - or any authority figure's, for that matter - rebukes like a duck with water. Perhaps it was just peer pressure? Or something about this particular insistence that made Potter quicker to hurt?

Or perhaps he'd simply become better at hiding it, as time went by. Indeed, he was already far better at it than Severus would expect of a twelve year old...

Even more interesting were the memories Potter had of detentions with Lockhart. They were generally very few (the only person the boy had detentions with on a regular basis was him, it seemed. Severus hadn't figured out if it was because he assigned so many, or because the other teachers assigned such small amounts), but each were telling.

Lockhart took his detentions as a chance to do what he always did when one-on-one with another person. Talk about himself. He dispensed what he clearly felt were nuggets of gold on how to be famous and influential with the smallest amount of effort. Severus expected the boy to soak up the chance to get even more fame and attention. But instead he seemed to feel uncomfortable at the thought, to the point of being almost disdainful. At first Severus had assumed that the boy felt his own fame was being patronized, but the boy's responses (all geared around trying to break it to the professor that he did not _want_ the attention, which Lockhart seemed unable to comprehend) quickly squashed that.

When had the boy's opinion on that matter changed?

...Had it?

The last memory Severus visited, he did on purpose. It was not difficult to figure out what was behind the giant, snake encrusted door next to the second floor girl's bathroom. While Severus had no desire to watch Potter flail around in the Chamber of Secrets, he always wanted to finally prove Albus wrong. There was no way that a _Second Year_ had taken down a Basilisk.

And so it was that Severus found himself clutching his useless mental-wand drawn and held in a white-knuckled grip as he watched Potter dodge frantically away from a blinded Basilisk. The boy looked absurdly small next to the fifty foot monster, ducked against the wall with the Sorting Hat sliding over one eye.

Being in Potter's mind meant he could understand the Parseltongue being spoken, which Severus couldn't decide was helpful or not. On one had, it was useful to know what was being said. On the other, the vicious commands of the memory of Tom Riddle were both obvious and discomforting.

Then the boy pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat and stood there, a wild, determined look in his eyes, and Severus actually took a few frantic steps towards him, despite _knowing_ that the boy survived. And the Basilisk charged him and sank straight onto the sword, dying almost at once.

Severus' heart was pounding in fright, and he was about to leave to collect himself when he noticed the blood dripping from the boy's arm.

The Basilisk had _bit_ him.

The knowledge of exactly what that meant coursed through Severus. He could clearly remember the symptoms, as though the books and journals were open in front of him. Dizziness, weakness, muscle cramps, severe nausea...

But the boy was able to stumble over to the Weasley girl and memory-Riddle, and somehow manage to stay conscious as he was ranted at, before pulling the fang out of his arm and stabbing the diary with it.

Still, Severus was frozen, muscles refusing to cooperate. How was it that Potter was still alive? He was clearly just a rattled final breath away from passing right here. Even the memory was starting to fade, like the lights were being slowly put out. But Dumbledore's phoenix was there in between one moment and the next, bending over and spilling pearly tears into the wound. And the boy's absurd, stupid luck won out again, because that was enough to stop _Basilisk poison_ , which could destroy Horocruxes, and the boy recovered enough to ask the girl if she was alright.

And that's when Severus left, practically fleeing out the door and leaning against the wall between the door and the bathroom, breathing heavily.

Merlin, how many times had they been _so close_ to losing the Light's only hope? How many times had he been allowed to just wander off into mortal danger?

Above all, how had he managed to do it? Any of it? It wasn't the sort of question that Severus - or anyone, really - usually asked. He was Harry Potter. Of course he could handle himself! But that tiny excuse for a student shouldn't have been able to function under the sort of pain he had no doubt been in, much less devise a method of destroying a Horocrux and saving his friend's sister.

Well, if there was any place Severus could find out the answers to his questions, it was here.

~*~

For a long while, Severus debated which direction to go. Really, he should go back to his mission. But now Severus' curiosity was peaked, and to figure out how the boy had become what he was, he had to go backwards. But that raised a few problems.

The only large event of the boy's First Year he hadn't witnessed was his ill-advised little stint to the Stone. Severus already knew most of the details about that (and how two twelve-year-olds and one eleven-year-old and managed to get around their careful protections). Other than Potter's direct confrontation with the Dark Lord, there was no point in which he would have been in real pain. Even then, Severus didn't think it would be enough for him to develop that sort of a tolerance.

Which meant that Potter must have developed that during his childhood. That Potter had somehow going through systematic bouts of severe pain before he was even a decade old.

If that was true, then nearly every thought he'd had about Harry Potter was wrong, right from the beginning.

Part of Severus - a hurt, angry, _young_ part - howled at the thought. It couldn't be. Impossible. There was no way the son of James Potter could be anything but a spoiled, useless lump!

But Severus thought he might be old enough and experienced enough to face that maybe, just maybe, that was wrong.

And so he pushed himself off the way and towards the stairs, making his way down.

If Hogwarts started on the ground floor, then the dungeons must be his childhood. And if what Severus was starting to think was right, there might be a very good reason for that.

Despite that Potter had been here many times as a student (for classes and just sneaking around), the dungeons were the most inaccurate so far. For one, they were far darker than the spell-lit halls of reality, and there seemed to be more of them than there should be. For another, all the doors down here looked Muggle-made, which was exceedingly strange looking.

One in particular seemed to be recurring. It only come up to Severus' chest, and was slanted at an angle, like the ceiling cut down towards the floor. There were locks on it, designed not to keep people out, but to keep things in. The only difference between the many versions of it seemed to be age.

Severus was trying to come up with a good, or at least a neutral, explanation for this. He was failing.

Finally, he just picked one and threw it open, bending over to fit inside.

It was a cupboard. Judging by the way the ceiling was shaped, it was the sort that fit under the stairs. The inside was dark, but he could see a young, terribly thin Harry Potter was sitting inside, curled up on a bare mattress, one eye dark and bruised. As Severus watched, the undamaged eye went slightly red, like he was about to cry, but no tears spilled.

A long, rough sigh escaped Severus, as he twisted into the most comfortable position he could manage in the tiny space and stared at the boy, who was taking in huge but silent breaths, like he was afraid of being heard.

He wasn't sure what hurt more. That he had been so very wrong for so long, or that Harry Potter was a good bit more like him than he was like James Potter.

In the end he decided neither. Seeing the Light's hope, curled up and broken before he had so much as cast his first spell, was far more painful than either.

~*~

It took a while for Severus to collect himself enough to drag himself out of the memory and open other doors, operating under a desperate, dying hope that maybe this one... these two... these three had been isolated incidents. But they weren't. In a sick, sad way, these scenes were almost monotonous. Harry - Severus couldn't bring himself to call the boy 'Potter' anymore - was ordered around, pushed about, worked to the bone and attacked by his cousin. When he wasn't the centerpiece in this little bubble of hatred, he was ignored and told to pretend that he didn't exist.

On some level, it was utterly surreal to see Petunia Evans (Or, rather, Dursley) throwing around Lily's son like he was a highly contagious House Elf. He'd always thought her nasty and unlikable, but that was far different from thinking her capable of child abuse. With every vicious word spoken, every sour look thrown, for every frying pan ( _frying pan_!) swung, Severus found him pitying and understanding Harry Potter more, and feeling a tad more sick on Lily's behalf. It would have _killed_ her to see her little sister act so horribly toward her only son...

After a number of those memorizes, Severus made his way back toward the boy's Hogwarts years, unable to take much more. His hands were shaking with rage and fright. For one thing, who knows how much damage they had caused to the Boy-Who-Lived, desperately needed as he was. Not only that, but he felt outraged on Harry's behalf. He was a boy. He'd done nothing to deserve their hatred or all those years of pain and suffering.

It was a miracle that Harry Potter was not more like him, or Tom Riddle. Merlin knew he'd had the chance to become that way. But apparently there was something about him that kept him going.

Severus wanted to know what exactly that was. He could use some himself.

~*~

It was strange how filling in Harry's back story changed how he viewed the boy's actions. Now when memory-him insulted the boy's father, he understood how it echoed what the Dursley's had told him – how he'd been a useless, unemployed drunk who was responsible for his and his wife's death. And he understood how the boy finally was able to see his parents as something possible, and how tightly he clung to that idea now that it was finally his.

What Severus' had always taken for apathy and pigheadedness was actually the panicked grip of a boy who had little else.

After that memory, curiosity again struck him as he passed one of the compartment doors for the Hogwarts Express. Severus entered, and at first assumed this one was merely sentimental – the first time Harry had ever seen Remus Lupin.

But then the air around them went cold, and the door behind Severus opened, slow and ominous. Hopeless, heartbroken screams seemed to take up all sound, and Potter went very pale before going limp.

Severus stumbled back out, slamming the door behind him. The effect of the remembered Dementor ceased at once, and he stared the the unassuming wood in front of him. Even warped into those screams, Severus knew that voice. That had been _Lily_.

Potter had been only a year old when he had heard that. How was it that he remembered it? It shouldn't be possible. Brains that young were still developing and didn't retain memories in the same way. It was more likely that he would have developed a severe phobia.

More importantly, was the memory still there? Buried at the bottom of this warped reflection of Hogwarts, did Lily Potter's last moments reply like ghosts on film?

If it was here, and if Severus could find it, would he be able to watch her die?

~*~

Severus spent a while in the memories of Harry learning to cast a Patronus after that. On one hand, he still had to listen to those screams (which didn't seem to _bother_ the boy so much as the sensations of the Dementors did. How was that possible?). On the other hand, they were never as bad as that first memory, since it was really just a boggart, and seeing him develop a shield against the effects was comforting.

It was also interesting to see what memories the boy chose. The idea of happy thoughts to him was his first time flying, or spending his time with friends. Perhaps it was the way Lupin was explaining it (“ _Happy memories, the happiest you can think of._ ”), but none of them were very deep. They were just... happy. Not exhilarating or joyful. Instead, they were young. But then, this was a thirteen-year-old boy, not even fully into puberty yet.

But none of these memories showed him create the fully corporeal stag he was known for. Curious as to when he'd developed that particular talent, Severus wandered the halls, looking for any door the stood out. Eventually, one that looked like the one like it lead outside caught his eye, and he slipped through it.

It did indeed lead to the grounds, specifically near the lake. The chill and screams were present here as well, louder and stronger than Severus had ever felt in the boy's mind. Harry was leaning slightly on a tree, babbling frantically at the Granger girl, who just seemed confused and a little pitying.

Finally the boy whirled around and ran closer to the lake. Severus followed, watching as made his way to the bank and raised his wand. On the other side, a veritable _army_ of Dementors were swirling around two figures. One of them was sitting, frantically casting a Patronus, but only getting faint silver. The other was very still.

Harry murmured to himself quietly, and Severus caught the word ' _Dad_ ', before he squared his shoulder and cast.

The well known stag burst from his wand, huge and bright and powerful. The brilliance of actually hurt in the gloom of the forest, and Severus had to duck his head for a moment and blink spots from his eyes. The refection of the water showed the ghostly image of another memory, this time from the view from the other side of the bank, showing messy hair and glasses and the stag come closer.

The Dementors scattered, leaving their weakened prey to flee from the Patronus, which gave a little buck as though asserting itself. Then it cantered back, and Harry gave a wondering little gasp. " _Prongs_!"

Now that the view was clear, Severus could see the other two figures. Black was unconscious, splayed out on the bank, and looking utterly exhausted and confused was another Harry, who was staring directly at where the Patronus had come from.

While Severus was trying to figure out exactly how this was possible, Granger grabbed Harry and hissed frantically to him about not being seen. On her chest dangled a Time Turner.

Oh, _Merlin_.

The boy explained to her about thinking he was his father, but being him, and then casting because he'd known he could, and Severus froze. That... should not be possible. Patroni worked by using concentrated positive energy to distract and repel a Dementor. The realization that he already had cast the spell was _neutral_. It should not have been enough to create so much as a wisp, let alone something corporeal.

What did it mean that Potter could perform such advanced magic, so long as he believed he could?

Severus snorted. It meant that, once again, the rules did not apply to Harry Potter.

~*~

Really, Severus was running out of excuses for what he was doing. His goal was to protect Potter's mind and find that information. Theoretically, it should be on the top floor somewhere, assuming it was important enough to have a door (and if not, what exactly was he supposed to do?).

But instead he was wandering around the boy's Fourth Year, looking for one door in particular. Really, he couldn't _help_ it. Lily had once described him as a natural scientist - now that he had this new idea, this new perspective on Harry, he had to learn everything he could about him, and be able to see the reasoning behind his actions. It was fascinating in a way that Legilimency hadn't been seen he first developed the skill.

This particular door, however, was his focus for an entirely different reason. He'd heard about it from Albus, from various Death Eaters, and somewhat from the Dark Lord himself. But he'd missed it the first time, and so this was the closest to a first hand experience that Severus could get.

It took a while of searching, but finally he came upon it. The door seemed almost like it was made of marble was half hidden, like Harry had spent a good amount of time forcing it to the back of his mind, and it was heavy and difficult to open, like the Great Hall had been. Perhaps it was because they were memories that had a lot of weight to the boy. Or maybe it was because they were difficult for him to think on.

For a moment, Severus hesitated, wondering if perhaps he should leave it be. But his own desire to know pushed the thought away before it could take root, and he slipped through the door.

Almost immediately, Severus had to dodge the corpse of Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff had been left where he fell, eyes still wide in surprise. Several feet away, Harry was held captive against a headstone, panting with fear. Across from him, a massive cauldron boiled with some putrid potion, and Wormtail stood over it, holding a knife to his own wrist.

Despite knowing what was coming, Severus still flinched when the man rasped out " _Flesh of the servant, willing given, you will revive your master_ " and then sliced cleanly through.

Harry looked like he was going to be sick, going very still and pale against his improvised cage. Somehow, Wormtail managed to pick himself up and go over to the boy, slicing his arm near the elbow and collecting his blood (" _Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe_ ") and poured it into the potion.

Then he went to a bundle of fabric and pulled out a... thing. It was supposed to be a baby, perhaps, but it looked like nothing human. Wormtail dumped that in as well. Harry audibly held his breath, and his leg jerked like he wanted to knock the cauldron over.

From that putrid mess of potion and flesh rose Lord Voldemort.

Severus watched, feeling almost disconnected, as the Dark Lord called the Death Eaters (who were not apparently important enough to be visible) and interrogated them about their actions for the past decade. His questions were ones he would continue to bring up for over a year, and so Severus ignored that as best he could, instead focusing on Harry.

Despite the fact that he was obviously terrified and confused, he seemed to be taking in every word with the same sort of rapt attention he'd shown during that first Potions lesson. While he wasn't able to see their faces do to the mask, the boy was memorizing the names and information as best he could.

Perhaps, some little part of Severus suggested, it was a good thing that Harry had been stuck with the Dursleys for so long. If nothing else, he knew how to work through his pain and focus on the task at hand.

And just why was it that he had been left there for so long without protection or at least someone to check up on him?

Severus pushed that thought back as hard as he could. That was _ludicrous_. The boy had probably never been checked on for the same reason that Severus had never suspected. Who would think the Boy-Who-Lived would be mistreated?

Suddenly, the Dark Lord gave a flick of his wand and Harry was freed, given his own wand, and told he was going to die like a man. Like his father. He explained the rules of dueling and physically compelled the boy to bow with him.

And then the Dark Lord started firing curses.

The switch into survival mode was nearly visible in those green eyes as he dove for cover, firing off spells carefully. There were jeering taunts, mocking his lack of Gryffindor courage, but the boy ignored them better than he ignored Draco's schoolboy taunts. Instead he waited with a sort of practiced cautiousness.

In the three years since Potter had graduated Hogwarts and officially joined the Order, Severus had never fought with him. That was probably Albus' doing, since even he wouldn't jeopardize a mission in the hopes that making them work together would force them to bond or other such nonsense. And so the strange almost-grace Harry wielded on the battlefield was a surprise. But it was one of the most positive ones Severus had found in his mind.

Perhaps he was terrible at Potions. Perhaps his schoolwork was sloppy and often late. Perhaps he never had the best grades. But in particular area, Harry Potter was talented.

Suddenly, Severus was struck by a strong desire to see the current Harry in battle. How had he evolved? What had he perfected, and what had he cast off?

Without warning, Harry jumped out from his cover, casting a disarming charm (a _charm_? Was the boy stupid?) just as the Dark Lord fired of a Killing Curse.

The curses met dead on, connecting in _Priori Incantatem_. It was beautiful to watch, even as the ghostly echos of the Dark Lord's most recent victims began pouring out and talking to the boy.

And then Lily came.

It was almost painful to see her like this, where it was impossible for her to even acknowledge him. Severus thought that, even if he had been there in reality, Lily would never had seen him anyway. She only had eyes for her son. She and her husband (Strangely, James was barely even registering to Severus. Not with Lily there, and their son in such a dangerous place) told him how proud of him they were, and how he needed to push back, to win this tete-a-tete with the most powerful Dark Wizard on the century. Severus wanted to tell they that they were _mad_. There was no way that-

And then Harry's eyes glazed with concentration, and the thrumming point of light between him and the Dark Lord seemed to waiver and then move slowly away from the boy.

This tired, wounded, scared fourteen-year-old was holding his own against Lord Voldemort.

Actually, no. He was _winning_.

Once the light connected with the Dark Lord's wand, he was swarmed by the echos, and the boy darted away, running right past Severus and grabbing first Diggory's corpse, and then the Cup.

As the figures of the memory faded away, Severus had the absurd urge to a laugh. A strange sort of bubbling happiness was rising in him, and it took a long moment to realize it was hope.

If Harry could do that at fourteen, what was he capable of now?

~*~

After that, Severus made his way up the stairs. He had meant to go straight up to the top, but as he hit the fifth floor, he caught sight of his office door and froze.

He had no intention of viewing the Occlumency lessons. For one, they were still frustrating to think of now. For another, he already knew a lot of what the boy had been thinking of at the time, so it seemed useless. However, it did remind him that Harry had seen that awful, personal memory. He'd sworn not to tell anyone, but Severus doubted that was true - as close as he was with Granger and Weasley, he didn't think they kept anything from each other. But this would be a chance to know exactly who he had told, which was information Severus found very valuable indeed.

However, he had no way of knowing which door that would be behind.

Severus took a moment to think on it. After his friends, who would be the first person Harry went to with the information? Black, probably. And since the Floo had been obviously policed that year, he'd either asked in a letter (unlikely - that sort of thing was very difficult to convey in written form), or he'd found a way past that. Considering that the boy had been caught in Umbridge's office making a Floo call when he'd been desperate to get in contact with the Mutt after his vision, that seemed like a good place to look for.

It wasn't difficult to spot Umbridge's door - the pink kittens on the front could be seen on the other side of the hall - and so Severus slipped in.

The memory wasn't of a Floo call - instead, it was one of the many detentions Harry had gotten from Umbridge over that year. He seemed to be writing lines (honestly, the woman was terribly unimaginative) and Severus began to back out when he noticed blood.

He moved closer, peering over the boy's shoulder, and give a choked gasp when he realized exactly what he was holding. A _Blood Quill_? How the hell had that cow managed to get one of those in Hogwarts? Actually, how had she been able to get one at all?

 _I must not tell lies_ was already clearly visible on the boy's left hand, scratched deeper every time he repeated the line. From her desk, Umbridge clucked at him like a disapproving school marm, going on about how she hoped this time the words would 'sink in'.

That woman was _sick_.

Uncomfortable with watching more, and still anxious to find that memory, Severus slipped out, wondering if Harry's hand had healed properly from that torture.

It took three more doors to find the Floo call. Potter was curled up in front of the fireplace, face in the green flames.

" _How come she married him? She hated him!_ " The boy's voice was raspy, almost broken. He sounded wretched. The muffled voices of Lupin and Black were quick to assure him that of course she hadn't hated him, he grew out of it and became a good man. But there was something about the way the boy's shoulders were angled, and the tone of his voice.

What Harry had seen in that pensive had hurt him far more than Severus had thought. In fact, once he'd calmed down some (a long while later), part of him had been almost _pleased_ that the boy had given into his curiosity. Let him see his father for who he really was! A bully, just like his son was! And Harry had never seemed to really be bothered by it. At least, he'd never let Severus see that.

Really, he'd never given any thought to how the knowledge must have hurt a boy who'd never known the father Severus was so hateful towards.

Again discomforted, Severus slipped out before the conversation ended, staring at the slightly-off color of the stone walls. He thought about finding the memory in the Department of Mysteries - it was another event he'd missed, only to be told about it by several parties later.

But Severus couldn't bring himself to have to watch that boy scramble through his first true battle scenario, or to have to see his face with Black fell through the veil. Instead he started climbing towards the top.

This time Severus didn't stop until he reached the highest floor, taking a moment to peer around. He had no idea where Harry's mission was, or where he'd been attacked, and so he had no clue which door he should be looking for.

But there was one just barely visible down the hall that looked padlocked shut, rather like how the cupboards in the dungeon were.

Sees like he'd found Harry.

The locks took a few minutes to undo - thankfully they were all just the kind that latched, rather than requiring a key, and Severus pushed it open, almost afraid of what he'd see.

The room was made of the same stone as the hallway. It was empty except for a bed, adorned with crisp white sheets and a sprawled out Harry Potter.

When the man didn't react, Severus' heart stopped for one painful moment. Before he'd even registered the thought, Severus was standing over him, shaking the smaller man's shoulders, eyes wide with panic.

For a long minute, Harry remained limp and dead to the world, and a hysterical part of Severus thought of the story of Sleeping Beauty. But then he groaned and twisted away, green eyes opening very slowly. Severus started to let out a relieved sigh when a fist caught him on the jaw.

Severus fell to the ground in a painful heap, and above him Harry cursed vehemently. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" He spat, and the smaller man gave him a dirty look.

"What _I'm_ doing?! You're the one snooping through my memories! Had a laugh, Snape? Enjoyed your little stroll?" Harry snapped, lips pulled back in a snarl. Severus was reminded uncomfortably of his expression during his duel against Voldemort.

Sitting up and avoiding Harry's gaze, he stared at the stone walls. "They were certainly enlightening." The smaller man lashed out with a kick, but whatever strange sleep he'd been had thrown off his balance, because it went wild, wasted somewhere to his left. "I was looking for _you_!"

The snort Harry made was not impressed. "You certainly took your time about it." He paused, brow furrowing together. "Why?"

With an slight nod, Severus sighed. "Do you remember the mission you were on before you were cursed?"

That earned him a blink of surprise. "I was cursed?" He tilted his head, clearly struggling to remember. "Um... mostly?" Harry shrugged. "I kind of do, but it's kind of hard to remember anything right now. It's like I have to get passed a barrier to think about it."

Harry rubbed at his head, and Severus moved his gaze to the top of his head. "Like they're behind doors?"

"Yeah, how did you- oh, stupid question." And now he was scowling again. "What exactly is this about? Why are you in my memories?"

Sighing, Severus massaged the bridge of his own night. "On your mission, you gained an important piece of information - I don't know what about, don't ask me. But on the way back you were hit by a curse that made you collapse once you'd arrived back at Hogwarts. I was sent in here to see if I could get the information, as well as protect you if your Occlumency had failed."

"Suppose it did, since you could just wander about." Harry returned. "And I don't see what that had to do with my Sorting, or the Dursleys, or _any_ of that."

Severus gave him an odd look. "How do you know which memories I visited?"

The man shrugged. "I sort of... dunno, dreamed it? It's not the right word for it - it was like watching a pensive memory, where you watch it from a different perspective and all. I could kind of see you watch, too." He glared at that. "That doesn't explain why you were _snooping_!"

He meant to come up with some excuse. That he'd thought Harry might be in the lower levels, maybe. Or that he'd been searching for the answers, and not realized a pattern. But what came out was, "I wanted to understand."

Really, how had he survived being a spy? He had more self control that that!

But, that seemed to calm something in Harry's eyes, and he blinked at his former Professor. "Understand what? You were in a bunch of those memories. It's not like you didn't know that stuff happened."

Severus wanted to stop this conversation, to pretend all this never happened, to never have to explain himself, but as always those green eyes disarmed him. "You should have been in Slytherin. And you were taking notes, and you wanted to learn. It was all wrong. None of it _fit_. So I had to know which was incorrect - the impression from the memories, or my own image of you."

For a second there was just silence as Harry seemed to take that in, and then he gave a stunned sounding chuckle. "You're a scientist at heart, aren't you?" Severus froze. Harry didn't notice. "What was your conclusion then?"

Shifting uncomfortable, Severus gave a jerk that might have started as a shrug. "I admit that my image of you might have been slightly biased."

Harry actually snickered at that. "No, really?" When Severus turned to glare at him, he rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Don't give me that. I had to _live_ your bias. You are not allowed to give me shit about this." He slipped backward so he was leaning against the headrest, gaze slightly narrowed. "I should be more pissed at you. You made my life hell for a decade." His eyes slipped shut, and Severus was suddenly struck by the fact that he was just barely younger than his father had been when he died. "It's just too hard to remember why I'm supposed to hate you. It's hazy."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't force it." Severus put in. If nothing else, it would be nice not to be hit again. "I have no idea what the curse you were hit with is supposed to do. If it was just designed to put you in a coma, then this strange pseudo-Hogwarts wouldn't be here, and it's possible your Occlumency shields would have held up."

Sliding off the bed offering his hand to Severus, Harry regarded him with a serious look. "Show me."

Severus took it.

~*~

After declaring the dreamed version of Hogwarts 'really weird', Harry stared down the hallway, eyes narrowed. "It's strange, don't you think?"

"I believe I already answered that."

"No, not that! I mean how it's all nicely sorted and organized like this. You had no trouble figuring it out and finding stuff, right? It's like it was made for easy viewing." Harry bit at his bottom lip. "So that someone could find exactly what they wanted in my head with nothing to block them out."

Severus stared at him. It was true – since he'd been taking advantage of it, he'd not given the accessibility of it a second thought. “Which means the Dark Lord is almost certain to be here.”

“Or coming, but yeah, probably.” Harry closed his eyes in concentration. “I don't sense him, but I don't really have a good feel for this place, either. It's all... echo-y.”

Giving a nod of understanding, Severus frowned. “Have you tried to wake yourself up?”

He got a dry look in response. “No, why would I do something like that? Of course I have. It didn't work. Have you tried getting out?”

Severus returned the expression. “I'm meant to protect you and your mind. Who knows what could happen while I'm gone.”

“Yeah, you've been such a knight in shining armor, what with spending your sweet time wandering about and all.”

Glaring, Severus huffed. “Can you manage on your own for however long it would take?”

“I would hope so.” He returned dryly. “Might be better off, now that I'm not being forced to watch my memories.”

After sending a glare his way, Severus focused on pulling back. He hit a block. “Oh, _hell_.”

Harry stared at him. “That sounded good.”

“Indeed.”

There was a period of silence where they both contemplated what a monumentally bad sign that was, before Harry sighed. “Well, I don't think that information – something about a dining room or something? - is going to be in a door. It doesn't seem like it holds that kind of... I dunno, weight. So I guess we'll just have to wait around for the spell to wear off, or for dear ole' Tom to find us.”

Gazing around, Severus arched an eyebrow. “I'm sure we can come up with a few things in the mean time.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“I think, Mr. Potter, that it's time I taught you some advanced Occlumency.”

~*~

They quickly found that Harry could manipulate the world around them to a small degree. He could lock doors or make them slam shut and, more importantly, he could feel when memories were being accessed, and even now that he was awake, he could get a sense of which memory it was.

“It's hard to tell for sure, though.” He told Severus. “Especially the farther away you go. Then it's sort of muffled. Like, I figure if you went to around Fifth Year or so I might not be able to feel you at all.”

Severus nodded. “Then we should keep moving, then, and try and find the Dark Lord.”

Shrugging, Harry headed towards the stairs. “I'm not sure what you're hoping for. What are we supposed to do if we find him? Throw a tea party?”

“Your sarcasm is unnecessary.” He ignored the dry look the man sent him. “We don't have to do anything. It's simply wisest to know which memories He is interested in.”

Harry eyed him. “I could hear the capital letter in that. You can call him Voldemort now, you know. S'not like he could hate you more.”

“Thank you so much for the reminder.”

Snorting, Harry rolled his eyes. “No, really. Why do you stick to that ridiculous Lord stuff?”

Severus thought about it. “Habit, I suppose. Besides, I prefer not to call him 'Voldemort'. It's even more absurd than calling him a Lord.”

With a little head tilt, Harry's lip twitched like he wanted to smirk. “Why not call him 'Tom' then, like Albus.”

He'd never thought of that. “I suppose that would be a decent compromise. Do not expect much of it, however. I've been calling him the Dark Lord for longer than you've been alive.”

“Fair enough.” The man shrugged. He paused, eyelids falling shut for just a moment. “Still nothing. If he was on the ground floor I'd have felt him already. Probably. He must not be here, yet – I can't imagine he wants anything to do with the Dursleys.”

“Personally, I'm not willing to assume that.” Severus told him, voice flat. “Besides, your memories must go further back than your... relations, Harry.”

The man stared at him. “You- why did you call me Harry?”

“Unless I'm mistaken, that is your name.”

The glare he got was amusing, if predictable. “You know what I mean! I've always been 'Potter'.” He was able to spit out the name in a fair approximation of Severus' most acidic tone. He'd certainly heard it enough times. “What changed?”

Turning to meet the younger man's gaze, Severus stopped and leaned against the wall. “I saw you as a child, hurt and looking half starved, fighting against sobs in the tiny cupboard you used as a bed. Forgive me if I can't generate the same disdain toward you after that.”

Harry looked like he'd been slapped, and Severus felt a fleeting stab of guilt, but it quickly faded. Things between them had _changed_ , and it was better for him to understand that. It was just the two of them, and maybe the Dark Lord, after all.

They continued their trek down in silence, Harry's eyes wide and very green as he stared at his feet. It wasn't until they reached the ground floor that the younger man spoke. “I wish you hadn't seen that.”

“I'm glad I did.” Hurt eyes rose to meet his, and so he elaborated. “Otherwise I would never have understood.” He inclined his head, and turned away. “I wish you hadn't lived that.”

“Me too.”

~*~

Harry's posture changed as they made their way into the dungeon. His shoulders drew up and tensed, and he kept tilting his body slightly, like he wanted to block Severus' view of the doors. As a whole it was more defensive, almost hunted.

It was probably the way he acted when he had went home for the summer.

“I have seen them.” He pointed out after a while. “You can't hide them from me.”

The man blinked at him, and then ducked his head down. “Yeah, well, it's kind of a instinct by this point. I never wanted anyone to know, after all.” He shrugged and his voice dropped into something low and nearly inaudible. “'Sides, you've not seen the bad ones.”

He opened his mouth to ask exactly what he meant by _that_ , but then closed it with a snap. There had been plenty of memory defiling for one day, thank you very much. Instead he tried to ignore the behavior.

That worked for about five more steps. Severus sighed and reached out, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. The younger man went suddenly tense, and he could feel the muscle bunch up under his palm. He didn't go so far as to dodge away from the touch, but Harry gave him a wild-eyed stare. “You must calm yourself.” He told the boy, for lack of anything really consoling to say. How exactly was he supposed to comfort him, exactly? “If we encounter the Da- Oh, fine, _Tom_ down here, this will only hurt you.”

At first the man just continued to stare at him, and Severus was sure he'd said the absolute wrong thing, but slowly Harry relaxed a bit. “Yeah, okay.” He finally said, voice a little less tight. “That- That makes sense. Good plan.” He starting walking again, letting the hand slid off his shoulder. His gait wasn't back to the smooth movements Severus was used to from him, but at least he didn't look like he was going to have a heart attack. The rest could wait.

It took several floors before Harry suddenly froze. “Brilliant.” He sighed.

“You feel him?”

Nodding, the man closed his eyes in concentration. “Yeah, way down. Just barely there.” He frowned. “I have no idea what he's looking at – he has to be in my toddler years or something, and I doubt there's much at all down there.” His brows drew together and he bit as his lip.

Severus sent him a heavy look. “Unfortunately, I disagree. I believe there's one very important memory he would want to examine.”

At first, Harry just blinked at him, clearly still having trouble getting at his memories. Then he started to slowly shake his head. “You mean the first attack? I was barely a year old – no way it's still down there.”

“But you hear your mother's screams around the Dementors, don't you?” The man looked away, but gave a sharp nod. “Then it stands to reason that at least some of it survives.”

Harry picked up his speed, crossing his arms like he was chilled. “I suppose.” His tone was sharp, and so Severus gave him space, keeping a few paces back.

As they passed through into the toddler years, the lights seemed to dim, and the doors looked almost warped. Severus was struck by the desire to peer into one, and see how it a memory from that age looked, but the look on Harry's face made him drop the idea.

Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to know how the Dursleys treated a three-year-old Harry Potter.

By the time they were on the right floor, the lighting had gotten down right eerie. In fact, it was almost like the would-be lamps were pumping out shadows instead. The air felt damp and cool, and a shiver made its way up Severus' spine. This area didn't fell like Harry – instead, it was much more akin to the Dark Lord's Legilimency.

Even without Harry there, Severus would have known which door was the right one. There was a huge, darkened slash running diagonally across the otherwise plain wood, like someone had run a flame across it.

“So, what's the plan?” Harry asked, voice only slightly strained. Severus tore his eyes away from the door, taking in the younger man. The tension had suddenly drained from him, and now his gaze was fixed on the handle.

Making an unsure little motion with his hand, Severus made a noncommittal noise. “It wasn't wise to make a solid plan, considering there was no way of knowing what we would find down here. Can you tell what he's doing in there?”

Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug, eyes not moving at all. “It just keeps replaying. But there's...” He blinked slowly, like he was falling asleep. “It's not just.... Something's-” He listed to the right and then suddenly jerked himself back into place.

This could not be good.

They were going to need a plan before whatever was going on with him got worse. Severus was struck by an _insane_ idea. And it was the only one he had.

Reaching out, he snapped in Harry's line of sight, making the man blink and finally look at him. “I'm going to be frank here: This is you, so something is eventually going to go wrong in the worst way.” Harry managed to look insulted here, despite the slightly glazed look to his eye. “Just remember that this is _your_ mind. You control the environment and what happens here. Do you understand?”

This was a lie. Utterly. It mattered very little whose mind a Legilimency battle happened in – it was all about how much power one had to wield. But Severus had a theory. It wasn't one he'd been pleased about staking his life on in the real world, but he currently hadn't much choice.

Harry gave him a vague nod just as the door swung open, as if inviting them in. And, like an absolute _idiot_ , the younger man walked in, Severus following reluctantly behind.

Inside, the Lord Voldemort of two decades ago was just entering, offering Lily the chance to run. She refused, and Severus looked away and closed his eyes, but was unable to block out the heart-rending flash of green, or to stop hearing the sudden silence.

When he managed to open his eyes back up, he avoided looking at the crumpled heap on the ground, or at the Dark Lord, who was no approaching the cradle with something like fear in his eyes. Instead his gaze found Harry. The younger man was watching it all with a sort of dispassionate air, like he was watching a film, rather than the event that cost him his family and any chance of a normal life.

A chuckle from behind them made Severus and Harry spin around. The current Voldemort was next to the door, red eyes narrowed and face twisted into something that might have been a smirk if he had proper lips. “Ah, Harry and Severus. It is my lucky day, isn't it? A chance to end the two biggest thorns in my side.” Severus raised his mental-wand, more in reflex than anything, but the Dark Lord ignored him, instead focusing on Harry. “You're looking well. I imagine you're having trouble getting to your memories? It is always nice when a spell works as planned.”

“Do you say anything that isn't a cliché?” Harry asked, sounding honestly curious. Red eyes went wide with surprise, before narrowing dangerously, and Severus stared at him, stomach slowly sinking. Oh _Merlin_ , the man was going to get himself (and a moment later, Severus) killed.

Voldemort took a step forward, his hand clutching at his wand. The movement jolted something at his feet, and Severus found himself looking at something that reminded him of a baby. Well, had the baby been starved, squeezed out of shape, and then skinned. After a moment, he realized it was identical to the creature Wormtail had thrown into the potion in the Graveyard. It gave a weak gurgling cry. The Dark Lord ignored it. “I would watch your words, boy, and I might make your death quick.”

Tilting his head slowly, Harry let the silence carry on for a moment. “So... that's a no then?” With a snarl, Voldemort's hand lashed out, hissing out a spell. Severus tensed, preparing to tackle the younger man, since he seemed to have no inclination to dodge himself.

But the spell simply vanished before it reached them.

“Cool,” Said Harry, and Severus had to agree. He didn't even bother to fight off the slow, weak smile that was starting to develop. His stupid, insane little theory had worked.

The rules really didn't apply to Harry Potter.

With a flick of his fingers, the wand in the Dark Lord's hand disappeared, and he stared at the empty space in shock. After a second, his focused back on Harry and lashed out with a violent erk. A wave of what felt like electricity surged towards them, but a few feet away it melted away into harmless steam. This time, however, Harry gave a little grunt, and by the time it had all been stopped, he was panting.

Voldemort took a step forward, preparing to press his advantage, but Harry stood up straight and looked him straight in the eye. “No.” He said, the word somehow like a bell.

And then the Dark Lord was gone.

While Severus was busy being stunned that it had worked and smug that his theory had been so successful, Harry made his way over to the tiny, wriggling thing. He picked it up, and it struggled weakly against him. “Sorry,” He said, voice quiet, before reaching up to cover it's eyes. It went still, and then dissolved into smoke, just as the magic before had.

Finally, Harry turned at met Severus' eyes. “I think we can go now.”

With a gasp and a jolt, Severus found himself in the real Hogwarts' Hospital Wing, sitting up on a bed. Three feet to the left of him, Harry stirred, and then slowly cracked his eyes open.

The Wing was empty except for them (which Severus was going to have something to say about once he saw Albus next, thank you very much), and for a long moment there were no sounds but their breathing.

“I remember why I'm supposed to hate you now.” Harry finally said, voice tired.

Something in Severus ached at the words, but he shoved it away. The younger man had plenty of reasons to feel that way. “I see.”

Sighing, Harry turned so he was staring direct at him, eyes piercing without the glasses. “But I figure the number of times you've saved my sorry arse kind of balances that out.” He sat up slowly, looking suddenly vulnerable. “Do you think I can do it? In real life.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Severus answered, “Yes.”

“Oh.” Harry seemed shocked by the answer, but he nodded slowly. “Will you help me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”


End file.
